


A Date with Death

by justbygrace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Conversations, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:31:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A short thing I wrote because of how much I love Death & want to see him in an AU. And because someone twisted my arm.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Date with Death

**Author's Note:**

> A short thing I wrote because of how much I love Death & want to see him in an AU. And because someone twisted my arm.

It's not like Dean meant to piss off the most powerful gang on the Eastern Seaboard. It wasn't like he had been planning on taking their leader for everything he was worth at Poker. And it wasn't like he realized that they would be that good at picking up on methods for counting cards. And it certainly wasn't like he had known that being on their black list would mean having to lay so extremely low he may as well not exist. Which was how when an offer to meet up came in from a guy named Crowley with a British accent and a propensity for playing both sides, it wasn't like Dean had much of a choice in taking him up on it. 

Crowley spoke in riddles of deals and devils and details and if Dean wasn't in so far over his head, he would have turned tail and run for the door, pride be damned. But in the end, Dean had little choice but to accept. After days of what Crowley called "negotiating" and Dean called "getting jerked around," Dean found himself standing outside of a tiny bar in an almost forgotten corner of the city. Crowley had, of course, dropped him off and disappeared. 

The man he was here to meet was someone about whom rumors held back in their exaggeration. Dean knew the stories, well, knew the stories as much as anyone could or wanted to. The accounting of this man's acts was whispered in back alleys and dark corners and anyone who wanted to live to see tomorrow knew better than to speak of him aloud. He was the gang's top enforcer; there were some who claimed he was their only enforcer. No one knew his name, nor did anyone particularly care to; he was known only by what he brought: Death.

On legs that could hardly support his weight, Dean made his way through the bar, trying to avoid the light and the other patron's eyes. Maybe there was some way this conversation didn't need to happen, some way to end this early. His hope was dashed when he was still fifteen feet away, Death's back still towards him.

"I believe you and I have some business we need to discuss. Sit." The man's voice was dark and old and rang of things that kept children awake at night.

Dean couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only edge his way closer. When his fingers found the opposite chair, he had to wipe his hands on his jeans before he could manage to pull it out and sink into it.

Dean forced himself to raise his head, to not only look at, but to study Death. He looked old, the lines of his face were drawn tight, his skin pale and thrown into sharp relief in the half light. For a moment Dean was tempted to laugh, this was the man whose very name people hesitated to speak? And then he looked at his eyes and his laughter faded before it had begun. 

"Are you here to kill me?" Dean spoke before he could think and immediately wished he hadn't.

Death regarded him as one would an ant under a microscope. "You have an inflated sense of your own importance. I am more important than you can imagine in your limited experience and brain power. Imagine how you would feel if a toddler sat down at your table and started to get snarky. I invite you to consider just how insignificant I find you." He then placed a slice of pizza on the plate in front of Dean. "Eat."

The smell of cheese and bread made Dean's stomach roll, but one look at Death, and he forced himself to lift the slice and take a hesitant bite. It was better than he expected and when it didn't immediately kill him, he felt himself relax just a tiny bit.

"What do you want from me?"

"The leash around my neck off." Death's answer was swift and, for the first time, his tone changed. "The Family has me bound to them because of some unseemly little will. They have me where they want, when they want. There was a reason I couldn't go to you. I had to wait until you caught up. They've made me their weapon, dealing out their ridiculous sense of justice. I am more powerful than you or they know, and I am stuck filling the whims of a silly family." 

"I can free you from their will?"

'Again with your ridiculous bravado. Of course you can't." Death leaned forward, fixed Dean with an unfathomable stare. "I understand that we have the same goal. I'm inclined to help you out."

"To help me out?" Dean parroted the words, unable to believe his ears.

"That's what I said." Death's face was as unreadable as ever. "You want the Family to leave you alone. I want the Family to let me go." 

Dean nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but for the first time all evening thought better of it and shut it again. For a moment there was silence while Death ate his pizza. Then he leaned across the table, pinning Dean to his chair with his gaze.

"There are conditions."


End file.
